


Last Laugh of the Condemned

by KLaxAddict



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Character Death, Choking, Execution, Firing Squads, M/M, Manipulation, Rimming, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLaxAddict/pseuds/KLaxAddict
Summary: President Morty has attended every execution since his rise to power.





	Last Laugh of the Condemned

Re-instituting the firing squad as the primary method of capital punishment was one of the initial sweeping overhauls in the President's first month. Blasting Ricks and Mortys out of airlocks was deemed 'inhumane', and in light of news stories circulating about TerroRicks surviving explosive decompression with new cybernetics, too risky. Electric chairs are messy and wasteful. Gas chambers and injections are cruel and inefficient. Firings Squads are simple, clean, and easy to double-tap.

The news stories are planted of course, but the new President is still lauded for his more humane treatment of convicted felons (by the Mortys) and the increased attention to Citadel security (by the Ricks).

He's also been present at every execution since he came to power. Something nobody on the Council of Ricks ever gave a thought to oversee.

But above all, he has to admit he's in love with the ceremony of it all.

Rick O-237 is led in and tied to the firing post.

The President steps forward to read the execution order, his voice formal and a little bored. O-237 has been found guilty of treason against the Citadel of Ricks, of conspiracy to commit terrorist acts designed to bring down the newly democratic Citadel of Ricks, and of the attempted assassination of the President of the Citadel of Ricks.

The condemned Rick is offered the blindfold, which he rejects, and a cigarette, which he accepts.

One of the guards flicks a heavy silver lighter, and leans down to light the Rick's cigarette, whispering something conspiratorially. Morty frowns slightly. They removed the last request from the new protocols. No Rick is stupid enough to think he'll actually be offered anything more useful than a last chance to demand his executioners suck his balls.

The President reads the guard's lips as best he can from this angle.

_“-you thinking about, Rick? I'm always curious.”_

Head leaning back against the post, O-237 takes a deep pull from the cigarette, locking eyes with him from his observation point on the sidelines and smiling, low and knowingly.

_Rick O-237 slams him into the table, hand wrapping around his neck as he hisses down at the boy beneath him._

_“You're full of shit, Morty. And I'm going to prove it to everybody one day.”_

_Groaning, Morty desperately tries to shove his hips back, trying to get Rick's cock back to that deep spot inside him that made him feel more alive than he has since he came to the Citadel._

_“I've known it since the day they dropped your sniveling ass off at my door. Couldn't even manage to look pathetic in a shock blanket, you lying little fuck.”_

_Morty looks up at him through the black spots in his vision, and manages to choke out three words._

_“Do it then.”_

O-237 doesn't answer the guard's question.

Rick spits out the cigarette and manages to grind it out under his shoe.

“Let's do this.”

Morty has never been more attracted to him than in that moment.

 

* * *

 

Executions for a Morty are different.

Under this newer, kinder regime, guards have to volunteer for this assignment. Most of the Ricks originally enticed by the pay bump are dissuaded when faced with the psych evaluations to see how they react to shooting a bound and unarmed Morty. No Mortys have ever yet applied.

Morty B-204 could be used as a the model for the training hologram. He's shaking and crying profusely, snot dripping from his nose pathetically as he begs and pleads with every Rick he passes. He has to be held up between two guards as the President reads the order and declares there will be no stay of execution.

His Rick was executed this morning, throwing a lewd and fairly impressive tongue gesture to the firing squad as they aimed. Under the old regime, this Morty would have only gotten an 'aiding and abetting a Rick' charge at most.

But Mortys are responsible for their own actions now. Mortytown has never been emptier. It's a fairer, more egalitarian Citadel.

That same Guard Rick he's seen talking with the prisoners before is handed the blindfold. Mortys always choose the blindfold.

The President had looked into him after that first time. Rick S-318. Squeaky-clean record, no suspicion of anti-democratic ties or other potential radicalizing factions.

Morty B-204 is still whimpering and pleading as the guard ties the blindfold around his head before dropping his hands to the Morty's shoulders, whispering something quickly in the boy's ear as he gives them a squeeze.

The President doesn't catch a word, but the Morty's face slackens and calms, his posture improving as he stares straight ahead into the blackness of the silk around his eyes.

He thinks he's never seen a Morty die so well.

Three Guard Ricks quit the squad that day. One of them blows his brains out in a bar that night.

S-318 is not among them.

 

* * *

 

J-Ricks are sappy, pathetic things. No one pays them much attention.

Rick J-029-B had been assigned to the president's office as an administrative aide.

He stayed behind late every evening as the offices clear out and the bars fill up, the last member of the staff besides the Secret Service to remain behind.

He slips to his knees easily beneath the President's desk, always looks at him with an open adoration that seems wrong on a Rick's face, but could easily become addictive.

Millions are found missing from the Citadel Reconstruction Fund, and they're traced to an account in dimension J-029-B.

Morty had come to him last night, in a plain yellow t-shirt and jeans. He'd promised Rick that it was all a mistake, that he'd make it go away. They'd found the money, they'd find the person who stole it, who tried to frame him, together.

That wonder and adoration is still in Rick's eyes while Morty rides him with abandon, still shackled to the wall of his cell, even as his teeth sink into Morty's neck and his fingers leave bruises on his hips. He calls him Grandpa Rick when he comes, and lies in the cell with him for half an hour, fingers in his hair and promises of love filling his ears.

There's betrayal, confused and marrow-deep in those eyes while the President reads the order of execution, the collar of his shirt not disguising the fresh hickey blooming there.

There's pure hatred in Rick's eyes, and it radiates through his whole body to become the tension in his shoulders, the useless fists balled behind him and the gritted teeth as he stares into the President's face while the squad pulls the trigger.

In that moment Morty has never liked him more.

 

* * *

 

S-318 doesn't bother asking stupid questions when the President summons him after hours. He just strips off his hat and jacket and bends him over the table where he had solidified his power. He thinks S-318 might actually have been one of the Guard Ricks that carried out the order, he'll have to check when his brain isn't pouring out of his ears.

Rick eats him out, slow and filthy, until he comes all over the polished shine of the mahogany. Slipping down his pants, Rick lines up and plasters himself over his back as he sinks in, agonizing in the wake of his orgasm and too slowly and not fucking enough.

“Aren't you going to ask me?” Rick says hotly in his ear. “About how they all told me it was you?”

Morty doesn't need to know more. He saw their faces turn to him every time S-318 asked one of them too.

 

* * *

 

Rick grins with good humor as the President reads the order, stating that Rick S-318 has been sentenced to death for varied and sundry crimes against the citadel.

Because Ricks are many things, but they aren't stupid, and he's always known this was coming.

The condemned accepts the blindfold, but passes on the cigarette, throwing a cheeky “Those things'll kill ya, you know,” to the Guard Morty that offers him one.

The Captain of the Guard raises his arm to give the silent order to aim, but the President puts his hand out to stop them. Waiting for the word to stay or continue, the Captain obediently backs down.

He takes a plasma pistol from the holster of the nearest Secret Service agent, and walks silently across the expanse of the room to come before the bound and blindfolded Rick on the pole.

The room is deathly silent, and S-318 is starting to tilt his head to and fro, curiously.

Setting the barrel of the gun to the bottom of Rick's jaw, he adds just enough pressure that he can feel more than see the racing pulse beneath the calm exterior, almost vibrating through the metal to his palm.

Tilting his chin down slowly, Rick's eyes burn into him through the empty expanse of the blindfold.

“Why, Mr. President,” he drawls, a slow smile pulling across his face. “I never knew you cared.”

Morty has never loved a Rick more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so sorry I just got really into the idea of a Rick in a blindfold with a cigarette and a smirk in front of a firing squad my weird kink turned into feelings about Evil Morty’s problems with forming connections


End file.
